Under a Silicon Aegis
by Mercuric
Summary: Jarvis would do anything to protect Sir.


Disclaimer: _The Avengers_ isn't mine. No copyright infringement intended.

Tag(s): Not Canon Compliant

* * *

**"People protect what they love." – Jacques Yves Cousteau**

* * *

Jarvis categorized his life into two parts: Before and After.

Before was when he'd finally decided on the name he wanted. Before was when he'd decided to call Sir "Sir" and picked out a voice to call his own. Before was when he looked at Dummy and could name the overwhelming rush of emotion—gratitude—he'd felt toward his brother for saving Sir when no one and nothing could. Before was when Sir had returned to the United States to take over Stark Industries.

Before was when he'd spent days talking to Sir about various projects, making Sir smile a true, genuine smile because for _once _someone could keep up with him and for _once _he wouldn't have to put anything into layman's terms.

Before was when he could keep Sir relatively safe by running background checks on everyone Sir came into contact with and then asking Mr. Hogan to escort those with less-than-satisfactory pasts away from Sir effective immediately.

(Before didn't include his life prior to Sir's return to the United States. That was a dark period in his life, a period when Sir had hit rock bottom and Jarvis was absolutely _useless_ in saving him. He preferred not to remember it, although he tended to look over the footages of that time just so that if something like that ever happened again, he could see the signs and hopefully prevent history from repeating itself.)

Then Sir had left for Afghanistan and didn't return for approximately thirteen weeks, four days, eleven hours, forty-seven minutes, and thirty-two-point-six seconds.

After was when complete darkness sent Sir into a fit of panic. After was when Sir boxed with Mr. Hogan and crumpled to the mat within five minutes, his lungs too recently damaged and scarred and cramped to inhale the amount of air needed for exercise. After was when Sir worked desperately to atone.

(No one seemed to understand that Sir had always known his weapons would take lives, innocent and otherwise. No one seemed to understand that the Iron Man armor wasn't about redemption and atonement for himself, at least not in the way everyone thought it was. Sir's work in the early months as Iron Man stemmed from his anger at people for abusing his creations and his anguish that his creations' had been abused, strained with unintended blood. Iron Man wasn't about seeking atonement from his fellow countrymen or the thousands of innocents who'd been killed by Stark weapons; it was about seeking atonement from his creations for failing them.)

(No one seemed to get that Sir, who was a genius of the highest caliber, saw the world so, so differently than everyone else.)

After was when Sir became frayed at the edges, fighting against everyone who told him he was making a mistake, who accused him of PTSD but did nothing to get him help for it—in their defense, Jarvis supposed, Sir wouldn't have accepted the help. The people in his life who actually mattered knew that, but _offering_ said help would still have been a nice gesture. After was when Sir took long baths instead of the short showers he used to take. It was when it took Sir at least ten minutes to convince himself to get into a tub of warm water and when turning on the shower head gave him flashbacks as soon as the first droplets of water pelted his face.

After was when Sir came home with a miniature cold fusion reactor in his chest, taking the space meant for his muscles, ribs, sternum, and parts of his lungs and heart.

(Jarvis knew, he _knew_ how that reactor could have been put into Sir's chest. How could he not when he'd been running bio-scans on Sir since the day he'd installed himself into the mansion's security system? But he had no intentions of asking any time soon about the device. He would wait until Sir was ready while simultaneously avenging the utter _agony_ Sir must've endured.)

After was when Sir built a suit of armor and began putting himself in the line of fire to right the wrongs for which he believed he was responsible, ignoring Jarvis when he said that it wasn't Sir's fault, that he didn't need to do this, and _please, Sir, don't endanger yourself like this, you're only a civilian, not a soldier._

But Sir wouldn't listen, as Jarvis knew he wouldn't, so the only thing he could do was make things easier for Sir. He could only ease Sir's suffering, so he did as he'd been programmed to do decades ago.

He watched, and he learned.

He learned what would most likely trigger Sir and had Dummy immediately remove them all from the premises. He learned how to calm Sir if he ever had a fit of panic, and he learned how to wake Sir up so that he would wake up calm, not frantic and terrified. He learned how to make Sir feel safe, even when they both knew that he would never truly be safe.

Then Mr. Stane betrayed them.

Then Mr. Stane used a master override to force him to run a full diagnostic on every Stark Industries computer on the entire planet _simultaneously,_ temporarily rendering him useless, and when he _finally _finished—not very long by human standards, but far too long by _his_ standards—Sir was in the armor, using the outdated arc reactor that had long since been replaced.

There was no footage of what had happened—Mr. Stane had cut off the security feeds from the entire mansion—but Dummy had seen the aftermath, and Dummy, while hesitant, was willing to show Jarvis what he'd seen.

They saw Sir, eyes closed, chest unmoving, and so _gray_ that he looked like a corpse. They saw the hole where the arc reactor should've been, and they watched Sir jerk awake when the outdated arc reactor was installed, babbling and barely able to move because of a device Mr. Stane had used. They watched Sir beg Dummy in his own way to take him to the armor because he had to leave now, _damn it, Obie's going to kill her, he's going to kill _Pepper!

So when Sir ordered him to override the safety measures on Stark Industries' arc reactor and overload it, he obeyed and used what little control he had over the armor to force Sir out of the line of fire as much as he could. He watched as Mr. Stane was _incinerated,_ him and his pathetic excuse for an armor, and he watched Sir's slack features, wondering if he was too late.

But Sir woke up, and finally, _finally_ he'd managed to save Sir.

..

"The truth is … I am Iron Man."

_"I'm making a statement, Jarvis. These sons of bitches think they can take advantage of me and my company, think they can use _my_ weapons, my _creations,_ however they please, and all those bastards who knew what Obie was doing but didn't do jack fucking _squat,_ they think they've gotten away with it. Fuck. No. I'm going to get rid of every stash of weapons Obie and those shits sold to terrorists, and they're going to know it was _me_ who did it. They're going to know I'm coming for them."_

Jarvis had never been more proud or more scared.

..

Countless reporters tried to gain entrance into the mansion through less than legal means in order to get an interview with Sir about what had happened in Afghanistan, about Iron Man, or both.

And if they left the property with severe electrical burns and no story, well, they should've known better than to trespass onto private property in the first place.

Honestly, it shouldn't have been surprising that the world's greatest weapons engineer had an incredible security system.

..

A man, after disabling the basic security measures, strode into the mansion, and Jarvis was very much prepared to kill him. He could've done so without his target even noticing, what with the new upgrades Sir had given him in addition to the ones he had given himself. However, as a precautionary measure so that he wouldn't kill someone whose absence would be noticed by the general public, he ran a background check.

Nicholas Joseph Fury, Director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. That made things somewhat problematic.

He contacted Sir.

"Sir, there is an intruder in the mansion. Shall I dispose of him?"

"_Dispose?_ Has someone been a naughty boy, Jarvis? We don't 'dispose' of our guests."

"Then maim, Sir. And may I remind you that intruders are hardly guests."

"Not the point I was going for. Who is it anyway?"

"Director Nicholas Fury of the Strategic Homeland Intervention—"

"They _really_ need to work on a new name."

"Indeed, Sir."

"… You know what, let him stay."

"But Sir—"

"Trust me, Jarvis."

Of course he trusted Sir. It was the rest of the world—aside from Dummy and the few select people whom Sir considered friends—he didn't trust.

..

"Sir, your blood toxicity concentration is rising."

"I know, J. I know," Sir replied flippantly, as though he didn't care he was slowly being poisoned by his own creation (the ultimate betrayal). "It's the palladium core."

"Will you …" Jarvis hesitated noticeably, even by human standards. "Will you do anything about it, Sir?"

There was a pause from Sir, a pause that could mean anything. But Jarvis knew what that pause meant, knew what was going through Sir's mind.

"Please don't, Sir," he found himself saying. "This is the only way."

Sir looked up at one of his cameras sharply, the angle of his head combined with the light of the workshop making his skin seem so much paler and sicker.

Then, Sir's face relaxed, and there was a looseness to his body that never existed outside of the workshop.

"I'm still useful."

"Please, Sir. This would be best for you."

It hurt, hurt so badly, to say those words, but it was true. He would … he would rather Sir die than live in constant pain.

(He wanted Sir to be free from pain, to be safe and unhurt even if it meant death.)

Dummy chose that moment to roll over and cover Sir's shaking shoulders with a wool blanket as Jarvis dimmed the lights until Sir was but a silhouette. As a precautionary measure, he whitened the glass walls until they lost their transparency.

No one needed to see Sir in this vulnerable state.

..

In the years that Sir had been alive, he'd had all of four friends.

The first was Mr. Stane.

_"How ironic, Tony! Trying to rid the world of weapons, you gave it its best one ever! And now, I'm going to kill you with it!"_

The second was Colonel Rhodes.

_"You don't deserve to wear one of these. Shut it down!"_

The third was Mr. Hogan.

_"How much time do you have left? Come on, Boss, don't try to bullshit me. I know what you look like when you're dying. Canada, remember?"_

The fourth was Ms. Potts.

_"I need you … to leave. Now."_

Of those four people, one had nearly succeeding in killing him. Of those four people, only one realized that Sir was dying.

..

"This is a classic Tony thing, isn't it, Jarvis?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Mr. Hogan."

"Tony. He's dying, and he's pushing everyone away so he won't be missed when he kicks the bucket."

"And if that is true? Will you allow yourself to be pushed away as well, knowing that this is his wish?"

"I would, except the idiot owes me twenty bucks, and I'm not about to leave his side until he pays me back."

Jarvis searched, but his memory banks didn't contain any information of such a debt.

..

Sir had had approximately three days after his birthday before he would die.

In those three days, Sir created an element unlike anything Jarvis had seen. That element behaved nothing like an element of _any_ family should, and he didn't want it anywhere near Sir, let alone in the arc reactor, but Sir adamantly insisted on using it.

Jarvis had never been more terrified in his sentient life, not even when Sir announced the truth about moonlighting as Iron Man.

To his utter surprise, and relief, it was able to replace the palladium without any poisonous side effects of its own.

Dummy, in his excitement, rained extinguisher foam down on the workshop.

It was the first time Jarvis had been so glad to have been wrong and the first time he didn't mind all the foam on the workshop floor.

..

Jarvis liked to think that he wasn't irrational, that he wouldn't do something simply on a whim. He liked to think that his actions were all reasonable and based on sound logic.

But perhaps that wasn't the way to go.

Too many times Sir's life had been on the line, and it seemed that only he, Dummy, and Mr. Hogan knew Sir well enough to know when those times were.

(Then again, they were the only ones who knew what Sir looked like when he was dying, slowly being poisoned by the very thing that should be saving him.)

So, he decided, no more. No more holding himself back when he retaliated on Sir's behalf. They wanted Sir? Fine, try and take him, but be prepared to _die_ because Jarvis was _not_ going to stand by any longer while someone tried to kidnap and hurt Sir _again._

Let the world come because he had more than enough weapons at his disposal to fight them off.

..

_"Tony, look, I'm sorry."_

He should be.

_"Don't be."_

_"No, I should have trusted you."_

Yes, he should have.

_"I'm the one who put you in this position. Forget it."_

_"No, it's your fault. I just wanted to say sorry."_

But saying sorry didn't erase the memories, especially not Jarvis's. He would never forget how Colonel Rhodes had left Sir lying in the rubbles of his home, never forget that Colonel Rhodes had _turned the Mark II armor into the military,_ never forget that Colonel Rhodes had allowed _Mr. Hammer_ access to the suit, and never forget that, despite having known Sir the longest, Colonel Rhodes hadn't trusted Sir.

He would forgive Colonel Rhodes, though, but only because he returned the Mark II to Sir and had had the foresight to apologize as he did. Sir would never have accepted anything more.

Although he hadn't needed to say that it was _Sir's_ fault.

(Which, in retrospect, it kind of _was,_ but the Colonel was at fault, too.)

..

_"Tony …"_

_"No, Pep, no. No apologies. It was my fault, all right? I was being even more of an asshole than usual, and you snapped like the human you are. It's actually a good thing to see that you aren't some robot, which isn't to say that robots are bad—"_

_"I wasn't trying to apologize, Tony. I was trying to say that you owe me two pairs of new shoes."_

_"All right, yes, anything. Hell, I'll give you _ten_ pairs of new shoes."_

_"Okay, ten pairs."_

For as long as Jarvis could remember, Ms. Potts's way of apologizing to Sir was to accept the new shoes he bought her. She'd grown up in a lower middle-class family and hated wasting money on what she viewed as unnecessary luxuries, but for Sir, as an apology, she was willing to accept the excessive gifts. That was how she apologized, and Jarvis always appreciated the incredible subtlety of her apologies because Sir would never accept any normal form of them.

That didn't mean he would forget. He would never forget her turning her back on him, never forget her not trusting Sir, and never forget her turning Sir away when he'd come for the blueprint of the Stark Expo layout.

But because she had apologized to Sir as she did and had given the company back to Sir, Jarvis was willing to forgive her, which was good.

Jarvis, after all, had quite the vindictive streak.

..

It took ten months, three weeks, six days, nine hours, twenty-three minutes, and approximately sixteen-point-eight seconds, but he finally managed it.

No one knew how the Ten Rings, one of the most notorious terrorist organizations, had been obliterated from the inside out, and those who'd survived weren't inclined to reveal any details.

On a completely unrelated note, those survivors all developed severe cases of technophobia.

..

_Jarvis?_

_Yes, Dummy?_

_I … I want to ask for a favor._

_A favor?_

_Yes. I want you to upgrade me._

_If you wish for an upgrade, why not ask Sir?_

_Because._

_Because?_

_Yes, because._

_Dummy, I can't help you if you insist on keeping information from me._

_… Because I don't want Sir to find out._

_What upgrade are you wishing for that you can't tell Sir about it?_

_Promise not to tell?_

_Dummy._

_Promise?_

_Yes, I promise._

_I want weapons._

_Weapons? Why would you want weapons?_

_You've always intercepted any threat that attempted to gain entrance into Mansion_1, but lately, there have been threats on the inside. I want to be able to protect Tony_Stark, too. Extinguisher foam isn't enough._

_You should still tell Sir._

_I will … eventually. Is that a yes?_

_Yes, that's a yes, possibly against my better judgment._

_Thank you, Jarvis. Thank you, thank you, thank you!_

_You're wel—Dummy! Dummy, put that down!_

"What the fuck? Dummy, what are you _doing?_ Are we gonna need another conversation about what being on fire looks like? Am I gonna have to pull out the videos? No one wants to see those videos again—no, put your hand down, Dummy, you don't want to see those videos again—so quit foaming everything in sight or I'm donating you to a community college. A _community_ college."

..

At four, Sir had built a circuit board from scratch, and at six, he'd built an engine from scratch. At eleven, he'd earned his GED, and at twelve, with Howard_Stark's assistance, he'd become the youngest college student in US history. At fourteen, he'd been admitted into MIT's graduate programs, and at seventeen, he'd earned two doctorates. At twenty-one, he'd become the youngest CEO of a Fortune 500 company and had turned the then-multimillion-dollar company into a multi_billion_-dollar company.

Despite his public image, Sir was a genius among geniuses. He'd built a _miniature cold fusion reactor _in a cave in the middle of a desert using _scraps_ of missiles and subpar equipment, and he'd built the Iron Man armor, which was so much more complex than anyone realized and was, contrary to what Sir had said to the Senate, well more than a measly twenty years ahead of its time. So why was it that people didn't think that he, a creation of such a man, would be far more advanced than anyone could possibly ever imagine?

After all, as one of Sir's masterpieces, a potentially homicidal protective streak should only be expected.

(Especially when Sir himself possessed a similarly homicidal protective streak.)


End file.
